Distracted
by MachGirl
Summary: As a student, he's mediocre. But before anyone knew how great he really was, she did. Speed tells the world exactly how he came to fall in love with his best friend and number one fangirl. MOVIEVERSE
1. The Importance of Being Eight

_**Disclaimer  
**Speed Racer _is a tradmark of Speed Racer Enterprises Inc.

_--This story is fictional. Any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, is unintentional and completely coincidential.--_

**_Author's Note:_  
**_It may be noticed that my speech is not as ... dignified in this story as "Trixie's Saga."  
That's on purpose.  
Because Speed is--let's face it--not as "book-smart" as Trixie, I changed my venicular.  
I also give him this kind of A.D.D. thing where he switches what he's talking about in mid-thought._

"Distracted"

That's what it said in the 'comments' portion of my report card in the third grade. Mrs. Waterstratt, my teacher, had it in her mind that my mind was totally consumed by the idea of racing.

Duh.

Did she look at my _name_ before she met me? What other field is a kid named Speed Racer going to go into: accounting?! Because everyone wants to step into their bank and hear, "Hello, my name is Speed, I will be arranging your taxes."

Anyway, Mrs. Waterstratt could never admit it, for fear of losing her job, but we all knew I was her least favorite student. I wasn't book smart. Truth be told … I'm kind of dumb. She once told Mom that maybe I needed ADD therapy. Mom said she valued the suggestion and pulled me out by the arm muttering about people telling her how to raise her son. I hated school and I hated Mrs. Waterstratt even more, but I wouldn't have given it up for the world, if only for one reason.

It was how I first met Trixie Shimura.

No one believes you when you say you met your soul mate while you were still in the one-digits, but I firmly believe I did. The moment I saw her in my little soapbox car, my heart did a 360° flip and my thoughts on girls did a 180°. I was eight; I still thought girls had cooties. Then I saw Trixie, standing above her punch victim. And she'd done it because someone insulted _me!_

Let's get one thing straight. I wasn't Mr. Popular in school. Everyone thought I was weird or stupid. Plus, I was scrawny. That made me an easy target for bullies. And if I hadn't had that little red wagon car, they probably would have caught me.

But Trixie wasn't like the other kids. She wanted to see my car collection. She thought I was cool. She liked my Mom and Pops' motor business even better than her father's. Who knew that the perfect girl for a race fanatic was … the daughter of a car fanatic?

But this story isn't called 'When Speedy Met Trixie.'

This is how a dumb, distracted boy fell in love with the _only _girl that could ever keep his attention.


	2. The Day My World Stood Still

Another special thing about my relationship with Trixie was that she knew my brother Rex before he left home. I came to her immediately the day after.

"Speedy, what's wrong?" she asked. "You look sad."

"Rex is gone!" I wailed.

"Gone where?"

"He wouldn't say."

She tried to comfort me as best she could. She put a hand on my shoulder and tried to assure me, "I'm sure he'll be back." I shook my head and explained, "Pops told him he can't come back."

"He didn't mean that, I'll bet," she said. "You wait and see. Rex will be back home soon."

I appreciated what she was trying to do, really I did. But Rex was like a god to me. Having him walk out on the family was like my whole world just imploding on itself like one of those dilapidated buildings that's good for nothing but housing rats …Where was I? Oh, yeah.

And this time, Trixie was wrong.

We were ten years old. And I had gotten word that Rex was going to be in the Casa Cristo rally that year. The day of the race, I ran over to Trixie's house and beat on her door as hard as I could. It opened slowly. I looked up, expecting to see Mr. or Mrs. Shimura, but there was nothing there.

"Speed?! What are you doing here?" asked Trixie's voice. I looked down to eye level. There she was in her favorite red and blue dress.

"Rex is going to race in the Casa Cristo!" I declared. "Come on, you _have_ to come over and watch with us."

"Okay!" she yelled. Briefly she looked back inside to yell, "Mom! I'm going to Speed's house!"

"Have fun, sweetie," she called after her.

We ran through the streets, Trixie just a few paces in front of me (as Mom said was a gentleman's position). She glanced back, "What if he wins?"

"Maybe he'll get to the Grand Prix!" said I, dreaming of the future. "And then he'll win and Pops will let him back home!"

"Oh, Speed, that'd be great!" she gasped, realizing how much it meant to me. We stopped in front of the house. I took her into my arms and we hopped around. Suddenly, the lock clicked. Mom came out of the house and grinned at us, "Always lovely to have you visit, Trixie. Come on in. We'll have dinner and then we'll watch the race."

"Okay!" we said in unison, running into the kitchen.

Mom cooked Shrimp Alfredo--Trixie's favorite. We all ate around the table and then settled in the living room in front of the TV. I was on the floor, and Trixie was on the couch, just behind me, with a pillow in her lap.

My mind was swimming with dreams of the future, being a family again. I knew my brother. He was the best driver in the world. Whenever he raced, he was in it to win it, and _everyone _knew it.

But then all my dreams literally went up in flames.

He was in thirteenth place, and they were coming up on the Maltese ice caves. As if it was on instinct, at the very same moment the cars hit each other, Mom dropped her wine glass.

My brother used to say he could make it out of any crash. But as reporters and paramedics came rushing on and off the screen, I realized it wouldn't happen this time. Gods weren't supposed to die. I bet those apostles at the crucifixion felt exactly the way I did at that moment.

I clawed over to the TV and touched my fingertips to the screen, hoping to fall through and be with my brother one last time. I whispered helplessly, "Rex…"

"Take Trixie home, Sparky," said Mom. She pulled Trixie off the couch and gently pushed her over to Sparky. He tried to lead her to the door. She looked back over her shoulder at me, but I couldn't look into her eyes. Mom had turned off the TV, but I was still clinging to it.

"R-R-R-REX!" I screamed.

Trixie pushed Sparky's arm off her shoulder and charged at me, "SPEED!"

She grasp her arms around my shoulders as hard as she could. I clasp my hands tightly around her arms and cried into her little red dress.

Mom and Pops didn't know what to do. They took Trixie by the waist and tried to pull her off me, but we held on too hard.

"NO!" she screamed. "I won't leave him! I can't leave him!" She pushed my parents off of her and pressed her cheek to mine. Over and over she chanted, "I'll never leave you, Speedy. Never, ever, ever."

And Trixie Shimura was nothing if not a girl of her word.


	3. Get Perceptive

I remember my high school days with Trixie like they were yesterday … that _could _be because we're only nineteen now, but whatever. In sophomore year, I was fifteen, and she was fourteen. She was about three or four months younger than me. We were pretty much inseparable. She was my best friend.

One of the only differences between middle school and high school is that the kids know more, and can tease you about more things.

One particular day, I had gotten some algebra work I didn't understand. Trixie and I went down the stairs to the basement for lunch and sat ourselves at a table alone. Knowing when I needed my lifeboat, I begged, "Trix, can you help me with this? I'm _really _lost."

"Well, let's see," she replied. She turned the book around to face her, "Inverse operations and identity?"

"No, _that_ I understood …" I began. Suddenly, one girl and one guy came up to us. She had a paper in her hand; he, a camera.

"Can we get a picture of you two for the yearbook?" they asked. I was reluctant, but Trixie wouldn't let me hesitate. She jumped out of her seat and put her arms around my neck. She kissed my cheek, something we had done so many times, it seemed utterly platonic. The flash went off in our faces.

"Thanks a ton!" said the girl. And they skipped off.

I rubbed my eyes and muttered, "I hate flash photography."

"Well, it's our last year here," reasoned Trixie. "I want as many pictures as I can get in the yearbook. And I'd take them all with you if I could." Believe it or not, I still hadn't realized Trixie had a crush on me by this point in our relationship.

What?! I _said_ I was dumb!

"Are you coming over tonight?" I asked.

"Sure!"

I invited Trixie to my house almost every night, and she almost always came. But she never invited me to her place. I thought it was because she knew her father wouldn't approve. I had met _Mrs. _Shimura once, though. She was very nice to me.

But when I left the building that day, she wasn't waiting for me.

"Catfight!" yelled a voice, naturally from a guy.

"Start pulling the hair!!" screamed another.

My 'distracted' brain somehow thought, _dear God, TRIXIE!_ I ran into the courtyard and pulled her off another girl.

"Trixie!"

"She asked me if your name had anything to do with how long you keep the stick shift going!" she shrieked.

Five years later, and she was _still_ willing to kick ass for me.

She threaded her hand in mine as we walked over to my house. I think it was then, feeling our hands swing back and forth, was when I realized how much Trixie truly cared for me.

But I needed a second opinion.

I slipped into the garage to speak to Sparky, our mechanic, and another one of my best friends … okay, one of my _only _friends. He was working underneath what was supposed to be my car 'when I was ready' (so Pops said), the Mach 5.

"Hey, Sparky, can I ask you a question?" I asked. "It's about Trixie."

"Sure, Speed," he replied. He came up from under the car, a smudge of oil on his red cap and holding a wrench. "What's up?"

"Do you think she likes me?"

"You know she likes you."

"No," I mumbled. "Do you think she … _like_ likes me?"

He started laughing. He laughed so damn hard he dropped his wrench on his foot. He lifted his leg and hopped around the garage, still laughing.

"Is it _that _bad an idea?" I asked.

"Sp—" he gasped for breath, "oh, Spee—oh, God. Of _course_ she like likes you!" he buckled down on his knees. "She's in _love_ with you! Don't tell me you haven't seen it until now!"

"Well, sure, when we were kids, but I kind of thought …" I trailed off. "I thought she grew out of it." I immediately added. "_Don't_ start laughing again, Sparky."

He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. "Why such the interest all of a sudden?"

"No reason."

"Do you think you might …?"

"No! I mean … I don't know," I said. I moaned and ran a hand through my hair. "Why is teenage life so complicated!?"

"It gets better," said Sparky.

"Really?" I asked.

"No," he retracted the statement. "I was just trying to make you feel better."

"Thaaaaanks, Sparky," I groaned sarcastically.

"Speed?" called Trixie's voice. "Hey, Speed!" She opened the door.

"A-ha!" she said triumphantly. "I thought I'd find you here." She motioned outside, "Come on, you two; dinner's ready."

"Oh—okay," I stammered.

Sparky started laughing again. I pushed his cap over his eyes. He continued to chuckle.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Trixie.

"He's been sniffing too much motor oil," I said. "Come on, let's go eat." I gently pushed her to the door while she stared at Sparky, who was still so amused that he forgot to push his cap back up while he followed us.

There was a bang as we left, and he never made it to dinner.


	4. When Her Eyes Go Green

Okay, so according to Sparky, Trixie was madly in love with me. What did _he _know about girls and relationships? Lack of girls and other distractions in his life was why Sparky ranked so high in his engineering class! So I concluded that, if I wanted to know Trixie's true feelings for me, I'd have to find out myself.

The sophomore semi-formal dance was approaching, a kind of 'Ha-ha, you made it, but wait until we bust your ass in junior year!' Trixie and I had unofficially decided between us that we weren't going. Almost everyone else, however, just assumed we were going together. Why 'almost?' Just wait, it's coming.

"Silly idea, really," said Trixie, sitting down as gracefully as she could into the foldout cafeteria seat. "Just mindless recreation."

"Yah-huh," I agreed feebly. Across the lunchroom, I could see Twinkle Banks sauntering through the crowds to get to the vending machines. She was like the Moses of the school cafeteria. When she walked in, crowds parted for her. She was generally thought to be the prettiest girl in the sophomore class. Guys wanted her, girls (except Trixie, apparently) wanted to _be _her. She _was_ pretty cool, famous for doing crazy stunts to promote her father's Universal Circus. They called her the Girl Daredevil.

"Her hair is so dyed," commented Trixie. I turned to look at her, blinking myself out of a kind of daze, "Wha--?"

"Look at those roots," Trixie snorted. "She's been hitting the bottle." She tapped her fingers on my Trigonometry book and demanded, "Come on, Speed, you have a quiz on trigonometric proofs in…" she glanced at the clock "… forty-five minutes, and you still don't know anything about them."

"I just don't _get _this stuff the way you do," I said. "We both know you're the brains of this operation."

"But you've got to believe in yourself," she demanded. "Or you'll make _me_ feel stupid for believing in you."

When I looked into her eyes after she said that, they looked different. Brighter, somehow. It was a strange moment that almost took me off kilter.

"Um … Trixie?" said an unknown voice. We looked up.

"Oh, hi, Kim!" said Trixie. "Speed, this is Kim Jugger. Kim, this is Speed Racer."

Everyone in school knew Kim Jugger. He was the star player of the football team. His father was General Cardonce, and he was going to be a racer when he graduated. He'd come to Trixie once for some help in Geometry.

"The famous Speed," he said. "She's always talking about you and how far back you go."

"That's because I'll need someone to have heard it all before he becomes Mr. Super-Famous Race Car Driver and forgets all about his old pals."

"You're not easy to forget," I said. To myself I added, _And besides, it's not like Pops would ever let me behind the wheel to become 'Mr. Super-Famous Race Car Driver.'_

"Maybe I'll see you on the track someday," said Kim. He turned his attention away from me quickly to instead talk to Trixie. "So, Trixie, I was wondering if you'd like to go to the semi-formal with me."

I frowned. Sure, Trixie and I weren't together, but what if we _had _been? Rude much? Jeez, nobody has manners anymore.

"Oh," she said—and did she glance at me?—"I'm sorry, Kim, but I wasn't going to go to semi. Dancing's not really my thing."

"Oh," he, too, said. "Well, that's cool."—Did _he _just glance at me?—"I'll see you around." He turned to walk away. I'd only seen the guy for five minutes tops, but I had concluded that I didn't like Kim Jugger. Who even _names _their son _Kim!_ I mean, in _America_.

Wait, isn't my name Speed Racer? I'll shut up now.

Trixie decided to come home with me that night, something about her father bringing so many snooty partners over it might as well have been the Geneva Convention.

I nodded. Obviously I was supposed to know what the Geneva Convention _was_.

About halfway to my house, she chuckled, "I can't believe Kim asked me to the dance. I've barely spoken to him in all this time we've gone to school together."

"Hey, Trix," I began. "Can I ask you something?"

She took on a whole new demeanor; totally bright and giggly. Her backpack bounced on the one shoulder it hung from. A grin came upon her face. "Well, you just did. But you can ask me another if you want."

"Do you think if I asked Twinkle Banks to semi she'd say yes?"

Trixie stumbled backwards, as if I had pushed her. Her mouth was open wide and her eyes were so big I thought they were about to fall out. She murmured, "Twinkle Banks?" Then her voice went unnaturally high, "Of course she'd say yes. I mean, you're awesome, and everyone says _she's_ so awesome. I bet you'll be really happy together." And she turned away.

"Wait, Trixie! Where are you going?" I asked.

"I forgot my—my mom's letting me test drive the copter today," she whispered. "I have to go. I—I—I'll see you at school."

She walked back up the street, hitched her backpack a little higher on her shoulder, glanced back at me, and turned the corner. I tried to drown out the sounds of sobs and running footsteps once she went out of sight, but I'll never forget them.

This made me sure of two things: Trixie _was_ in love with me.

And I was the biggest jerk on the face of the planet.


	5. Dueling Dates

Trixie wasn't waiting for me that next day for lunch. But I understood; I guess I kind of broke her heart. So I went down to the lunchroom by myself, determined to apologize … even though I really didn't know what to say. But when I got there, our usual table was empty.

"Trix?" I whispered to myself. I had seen her that morning. She ignored me like the plague, but I'd seen her. She _had_ to be there. I looked around and finally found her talking to Kim Jugger. I gritted my teeth a bit.

Trixie caught sight of me, exchanged a few more words with him, and sauntered back over to our table.

"Hi, Trix," I said uncertainly. "What's up?"

"Oh, I changed my mind about semi," she responded. "I'm going with Kim." Everything: they way she walked, the way she talked, the way she was _staring _at me, all screamed out, "_Screw you, Speed Racer!!"_

I twitched. Her words gave me this weird feeling, like someone had punched me in the stomach. Any words I had wanted to say were lodged in my throat. It must be what a cat feels like when he has a hairball. I supposed I deserved all of it; I started this whole dueling dates thing, but what was this _feeling_?

Jealousy?

"I bet you'll have a blast," I said with a little less sincerity than I would have liked to. "Give me a minute, Trixie, I'll be right back." I jogged over to Twinkle Banks, shoving through the surrounding crowd.

"Twinkle!" I yelled. "Hey, Twinkle!"

"Yes?" she asked.

"Hi, I'm Speed Racer." She laughed, "I know who you are. You're in my English class. The dark and mysterious one."

"Yeah," I said, slightly shocked at both the fact she knew who I was _and_ what she called me. Hell, I'll go with it. "I was wondering if you'd go to semi with me. I know it's this Friday and it's short notice…"

"Okay."

"Huh?" I asked. I really hadn't expected that answer. Trixie's brain proves me wrong again.

"I said 'okay,'" she repeated.

"Alright," I chuckled, self-satisfied. "I'll pick you up at eight on Friday." I glanced at Trixie. If looks could kill, I don't know who would have spontaneously combusted first, me or Twinkle.

So, the night of the dance came, and Mom was gushing about how handsome I looked in Pops' old tuxedo. She licked her fingers and reached for my cheek.

"Mom, it _really_ freaks me out when people do that," I warned her.

"Sorry, hon," she said, bringing out a handkerchief. She wiped my face off. I groaned.

Spritle, my younger brother, was five at this time. He ran out of his room, pointed at me, said, "You look dopey," in a sing-song voice, and ran away, laughing. I shook my head. That was probably the highlight of the kid's day. He was always so _bored_. That's why he ate so often; it was something to do. Mom was saying he needed a playmate, maybe a pet.

"So, tell me about this girl," Mom demanded.

"There's nothing to tell, Mom," I replied. "We're going to a dance; it's not like we're eloping."

"I don't understand why you didn't ask Trixie," Mom sighed. "She's such a sweet girl and she likes you so much."

"Because Trixie and me … we're _friends_, Mom," I said. "And besides, she's _got _a date." I sneered at the thought.

"Sounds like someone's turning green," said Mom as she tied my tie. "Sweetie, I'm your mother; I know things. I'm telling you, Trixie … she's one in a million. Don't let her pass you by."

I knew that already. There was nobody _quite_ like Trixie in the world. But was that a compliment?

The theme of the semi-formal was 'Fun in the Sun.' I always thought that was funny. What if a bunch of people came to the beach in tuxedos and dresses? What would the other people say? How were you supposed to swim?

But anyway, Twinkle and I walked in together, arm in arm. She was wearing a black dress with a red belt and matching shoes. Trixie and Kim were sitting at one of the tables. She was in a blue gown with a white collar. She was fiddling with a white hat in her lap. I couldn't help noticing how pretty she was. She looked up at me until, I guess, she realized she was still mad at me. She indignantly turned away.

Twinkle seemed much more at ease at the dance than I was. She was dancing to the fast beats like it was a club.

"Come on, Speed, feel the beat!" she giggled.

"I really rather not."

"Lighten up!" she yelled. She took me by the hands and twirled around the floor. When she was pleased, she stopped and laughed, "Wasn't that fun?"

"Su—su—sure," I moaned. "I'm just gonna go hold onto something for a minute. But that—that was totally fun." I stumbled in my dizzied state over to the stage and held on for a minute or two.

I looked over at Trixie. She was still sitting at the table. Kim wasn't with her. She was beating on an upside-down plastic cup with her left hand. She had four in front of her. Her head was resting on her right palm. It took five full minutes before I realized I couldn't stop staring at her.

Two long, base-line-filled hours later, it was the last dance. The song was light and slow. Twinkle and I were sitting at our table, staring at the dance floor.

"Last dance," I said.

"Do you want to go out there?" she asked.

"Do you?"

"Not really," she admitted.

"Okay," I nodded. I didn't really want to slow dance with her anyway. I looked over at Trixie and Kim. He was speaking. She was nodding and sipping another cup of fruit punch.

"Speed, do you think I'm stupid?" asked Twinkle. I turned back to her, "What are you—what are you talking about?"

"I've seen the way you've been looking at her," she said.

"It's just weird to …"

"See her with someone else?"

"No!" _Yes._

"Speed, I'm going to the bathroom," Twinkle sighed. "Don't expect to see me again tonight."

Well, at least she was straightforward about it.

I glanced back to Trixie. Kim had left the table, so I walked over to her. "Where's your date?"

"Probably getting me more high fructose corn syrup and red dye number 5."

"What?"

"Fruit punch," she explained. There were about thirteen cups on the table.

"Where's _your_ date?" she asked.

"Well, let's just say we can add her name to the list of people who think we're drowning in De Nile." She chortled. I offered my hand, "You want to dance, Trixie?"

"But it's a slow song."

"You're my best friend; the only girl I'd _ever_ want to slow dance with," I said. A smile came upon her face and she took my hand, "Let's go." We went to the center of the floor. She put her arms around my neck, and I slipped mine around her waist. We shifted our weight from one foot to the other and moved in a circle.

We stared into each other's eyes. There was another 'moment,' like the one we had in the cafeteria. It was like I couldn't see anyone but Trixie.

"You look really nice tonight," I told her.

"So do you," she responded. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but this is the most fun I've had all night."

"To tell you the truth," I confessed, "me too."


	6. What's the Use?

By the time I woke up the day after semi, the family was already having lunch.

"Oh, honey, you're finally up!" said Mom.

"If you want to call it that," I yawned.

"Take a seat, sweetie," Mom pointed to the last empty chair at the table. There was a plate in front of my place. On it was a turkey and Swiss sandwich and a cup of fruit punch. I looked at it. Trixie's words rang in my head, _"High fructose corn syrup and red dye number five!"_ I grinned.

"So, long night, Speed?" asked Sparky.

"Sparky!" yelled Pops. "Eat your lunch!"

"Yes, sir," Sparky said, looking down at his plate. He glanced up at me and twitched his head to the direction of the garage. I nodded and started to squirt mayo on my sandwich. About a minute later, Mom said, "Speedy, I'm pretty sure that's enough mayo."

"Ohuh?" I asked bewilderedly. I looked down at my open sandwich. The mayonnaise made a very specific design. It said 'TS.'

_Trixie Shimura?!_

I slammed the top bread on the sandwich and looked around, paranoid. The whole family was staring at me. I bit my sandwich and chewed it slowly, trying desperately to seem nonchalant.

Thoughts of Trixie had been swimming in my head since I'd gotten home, somewhere around twelve midnight, hence, the 'long night' Sparky was referring to. Every time I tried to close my eyes, I saw hers, her smile, how she almost glowed under the soft school ceiling lights. I could almost still feel her body between my palms, her hands stroking my neck.

She was freaking haunting me!

"So, how was your first school dance?" Sparky asked when we were alone in the garage. I sighed, "If I'm being honest, Sparky, it sucked."

"They usually do," Sparky agreed.

"But," I interjected, "I danced the last dance with Trixie. _That _was pretty fun."

"Ah."

"'Ah'?" asked I. "What do you mean by 'ah'?"

"Nothing," he lied. We stared at each other for a moment or two before I yelled, "Okay! She won't get out of my head!!" I slapped the side of my head three times while growling in frustration. "Everything reminds me of her! I was grinning like a dope drinking my fruit punch at lunch, because it got me thinking about her!"

"Love."

"WHAT?!"

"Sounds like love," said Sparky. "Or something a lot like it."

"No," I said frankly. "No way. No. Not possible."

"You're protesting a lot," Sparky observed. "You do that all the time when you lie."

"I'm not lying," I protested, looking him up and down and snorting after each sentence. "Why would I lie? What's there to lie about? I don't need to lie. … Damn it." I opened the garage door and went back into the house.

Sparky followed me, saying things like, "What are you so upset about? Love's great!"

"I don't love Trixie. I _can't_ love Trixie," I turned around halfway up the stairs and said to him. "It would ruin everything."

"Don't and can't are two very different concepts," Sparky lectured. "Which is it?"

"BOTH!" yelled I, darting into my room.

I'd fiddled with my car collection last night, purely out of insomnia. They were all over my desk. I started to pick one up to put it back in its place when Sparky came in.

"I'm done with that conversation," I said. He came up behind me and peered at the cars over my shoulder, "Hm. You might want to tell that to your cars."

"What do you mea—?" I began. Then I looked down at the cars. They were placed in a design that spelled out _Trixie!_

I ran a hand through it, sending toy cars in all sorts of erratic paths on the desk. I pointed a finger directly in Sparky's face, "If you tell anyone you saw that, I will shove that cap down your throat!!"

"Aw, I don't believe that," he brushed it off. "Ya know you love me. Apparently not as much as Trixie …"

"Don't test me, Sparky!" I yelled

Sparky did the 'my lips are sealed' motion over his mouth. I pushed him out of my room and slammed the door in his face, as if banishing Sparky would make all these feelings go away. I'd never felt anything even _remotely_ like them before. It was all so foreign: the constant thinking, the growing want—_need—_to be close to her. And my sudden one regret from the semi-formal …

Not kissing her when I had the chance.


	7. Driving Lessons

The worst thing (at least in my opinion) about having conflicting feelings for your best friend is that you can't tell your best friend the problem and ask for help. But I managed to get through all of junior year without doing something stupid, like professing my feelings on a balcony in the dark or standing under Trixie's window with a boom box.

We were finally seniors. Soon we would graduate, and I would be _done_ with school, much to Mom's disapproval.

"Is it summer yet?" I asked, looking down at my chemistry book, pushing my lunch to the side.

"We're barely halfway into October," Trixie said with a chuckle. "What's wrong?"

"What's with this calorie stuff!?" I yelled. "What's the difference between a calorie and a Calorie?!"

"Uppercase and lowercase C calorie?" she asked. "Big C Calorie is a thousand little c calories."

"Who came up with that?!" I snorted. She chuckled, "You're cute when you're stressed." She closed my notebook and shut the textbook over it, "But take a break, Super Star. Your hair might start falling out."

"I have to finish this _now_," I said. "I'm not doing it during the three day weekend."

"Gee, I forgot all about that!" said Trixie. "Thanks for reminding me. I might've tried to come in on Monday!"

"You _forgot?!_" I asked. Only Trixie would. "I've been looking to this since August. It's literally the only thing that's been keeping me going. How do you _forget?!_"

"All the days and weeks kind of mush together for me," Trixie replied. "Why do you think I ask you what date it is all the time?"

"Oh, that's right, you're on _smart people time_," I joked. She laughed.

"Do you want to come over this weekend?" I asked.

"Maybe," she replied. "I think I'm gonna try and get my dad to finally teach me how to drive."

"Don't you have your pilot's license?"

"Yes, I do," she confirmed.

"But you can't drive a car yet?" I probed, stunned. "And your dad own Shimura Motors?"

"My dad is constantly working and my momma's name is Aviatrix," she explained. "I've been set up to fly since before I could walk. But it's not like I can zoom around in a copter for everyday transportation. So I'm gonna get behind the wheel."

"I bet you'll be great," I told her. She smiled and looked down in her lap bashfully. Slowly her eyes glanced back up to mine. A grin came across my face.

I walked through the front door to the house at three-thirty. Mom was sitting on the couch, looking through a catalogue.

"What's up, Mom?" I asked.

"Oh, honey, you're home!" she said, as if both shocked and absolutely delighted to see me. She glanced at the doorway, waiting for Trixie to come in behind me. She had been with me so much it was strange to Mom, seeing me alone.

"What are you reading about?"

"I've finally decided to get Spritle a pet," she explained. "But I don't know what." She gasped, "Speed! What do _you _think would be good?"

"I don't know," I responded. "Dog, cat, bird, maybe we should get a chimpanzee." Mom turned around, deep in thought, "Hmmm…"

"I'm going to unpack," I said. "See you later, Mom."

"Dinner's at six, sweetie," she reminded me detachedly. "Oh, and your father wants to speak to you in the garage."

My eyes widened. What did I do now!? I went over the last week in my mind, thinking of anything that might have gotten me into trouble. I couldn't think of anything. So what was this impromptu meeting about?

"You wanted to see me, Pops?"I asked nervously.

"There he is!" chuckled Pops. Sure didn't _sound _like he was going to kill me, but this could still potentially go anywhere.

"Son, you'll be seventeen before we know it," Pops began. "In the blink of an eye, you'll be a man." He stuck his hand in his pocket and threw something at me, "And I think you're finally ready to have these." I caught it in the air and looked into my palm.

"The keys to the Mach 5?!"

"Yes, son."

I hadn't even _seen_ those keys for eight years. Rex gave them to me the night he left. The fact that the car reminded him of the son he lost, and that I was still in the one digits, motivated him to put the keys away.

"Thanks, Pops," I said. "I'll take good care of her."

"Yeah, I know," he replied. "Now get yourself outta here, before I change my mind."

I _thought _he was joking. It _sounded _like he was joking, but I didn't want to take my chances, so I ran back in the house and to my room.

I was pouring over my calculus homework at five o'clock, lost in a sea of '_x'_es and '_y'_s and radicands and big numbers. I sighed. A fleeting thought of, _I wish Trixie was here_ ran through my mind. She _was_ an expert mathematician.

The phone beside my desk rang three times, and then stopped. I shrugged, figuring it couldn't be all that important.

The click-clack of high heels came up the steps. Mom knocked on my door, "Speedy?" I opened it, "Something wrong, Mom?"

"Trixie's on the phone," she notified.

"Oh," I said. "Thanks, Mom." I went over to the desk and picked up the blue receiver. Feeling that I was still being watched, I looked to the doorway. Mom looked around innocently before leaving my doorway.

"Trix?"

"Hi, Speed," said her voice. She sounded uncharacteristically defeated.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Is—is that invitation still good to spend the weekend?" she ignored my question and instead asked her own.

"Always," I answered. "But I thought…" What could have happened to change her mind? She seemed so ecstatic at the idea of learning how to drive.

"Okay. I'll be over in a half an hour."

"No," I insisted. "I'm coming to pick you up."

"You don't have to do that."

"Believe me, I _want_ to," I promised her. I twirled the keychain on my finger as I spoke. Picking her up would be my first cruise in the Mach 5 … and she would get to see me in it. "I'll be there soon."

"Alright," she uttered. "I'll see you."

"See you." We hung up in unison.

"Mom! I'm bringing Trixie over for the weekend," I said as I trotted out the door. The last thing I heard before I closed the door was Mom say, "Oh, now I'm going to have to put out another placemat."

Trixie was standing outside her house, clutching her books to her chest. She had a red ribbon in her hair, was wearing a pink and white plaid shirt and white pants. She didn't see me right away. She was looking out at the horizon. I honked the horn. She jumped and turned to my direction. Her mouth dropped

"Hey, Trixie, check out my new wheels!"

She was just as psyched as I hoped she'd be. She ran over to it with a gasp, an expression of total astonishment on her face. She fingered the door handle and asked, "So, Pops finally let you have the Mach 5."

"Sure did," I said. I pulled up the lock of the passenger seat, pulled the handle, and pushed it open. "Hop in." She placed her books inside first and slipped in herself. She took the seatbelt, locked it, and looked around the car.

We hadn't been in the Mach 5 since we were ten; it was almost like a new car to us. But as the ride went on, she started to look more and more depressed. Finally I noted aloud, "You seem blue, Trixie."

"My father won't teach me how to drive," she sighed. Disappointment was plastered on her face.

"What happened?"

"He's too _busy_," she said, waving her jazz hands through the air. She put her elbow on her knee and her cheek on her palm. "He's always been too busy for me."

I glimpsed at her. She looked so upset. I couldn't take it anymore. "I'll teach you."

"You will?"

"Yeah!" I affirmed. I pulled the car to the curb and said, "Right here, right now."

"Wh—what?! Speed … I …" she stammered.

"Sorry, I don't yield to incomplete sentences." I unbuckled both of our seatbelts and stared to slide to the passenger seat. Trixie obediently tried to shift to the driver's seat over me. Right in the middle we got caught. She moved forward a little and slipped into my lap. She craned her neck to look at me. I stared at her.

"Umm…" I said. We just stared at one another for what couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but felt like hours. Then we started laughing awkwardly and continued back to our places.

Trixie _was _a natural behind the wheel. After a while, I didn't have to direct her hands for things like turning, but I did anyway. Why? I'm ashamed to say it, but because I wanted to touch her hand.

I think she knew it, too.

"So," I began, trying to make conversation. "What do you think you're going to do after graduation?"

"College," she said quickly. "Maybe I'll go to New York, Columbia."

"New York," I thought aloud. "That's … really far."

"I'm thinking I'll study abroad for a year or two."

"Abroad?!" I asked. All this meant one thing to me: 'Goodbye.'

"Oh, Speed, don't worry," she advised. "I'll talk to you on the phone and write all the time."

"Trix …" I whispered. "Don't go to Columbia." She grumbled as she pulled into the garage, "You sound like my dad, trying to tell me what to do."

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I just … I need you here."

"You _need_ me?"

I took her by the arm, gently pulled her over to me and kissed her cheek.

"Yeah, I need you."

Trixie was shocked. She placed her hand on her cheek. Her eyes widened and her mouth was in an 'o' of surprise. And so was I! As we stared at one another, I thought:

_Holy crap, what did I just do!?_


	8. Wake Up Call

Mom wasn't home to make breakfast on Monday morning.

"Honey?" asked Pops, walking around the house. "Honey?"

"She didn't say she was going anywhere?" asked Sparky. Pops shook his head, "Nope."

Spritle screamed.

"What are you doing?!" I shrieked at him.

"Mom is gone!" he yelled. "We'll never eat again! We'll die of starvation."

"I can make breakfast," Trixie offered. "Momma taught me how to cook when I was ten."

"We'll die of _food poisoning!_" Spritle revised his statement. Trixie glared at him for a moment, and then said to Pops and me, "I'm serious, though. I'll make breakfast."

Pops blew a raspberry, "I can't ask you to do that! You're our guest!"

"Baloney!" she said. "I might as well make myself useful." She stationed herself in the kitchen and started opening cabinets and taking out pots and pans. Watching her, Pops leaned over to me and asked, "Can she _really_ cook?"

"I wouldn't know," I replied. "We're always here."

Forty-five minutes later, Trixie called into the living room, "Breakfast is ready, boys." We sauntered into the kitchen and took our places at the table. Trixie placed plates of bacon and scrambled eggs in front of each of us and took a seat next to me.

Okay, so it wasn't exactly Mom's cheese and bacon omelet, but it was far from inedible. Even Spritle said, "Trixie, this is great! I take back all the things I said … and thought about you."

"Thanks … Spritle," Trixie acknowledged, "… I think." I chortled softly. Trixie yapped, "Shut up."

We heard the lock open, signaling Mom's arrival.

"Oh, dear, I was hoping you all weren't up yet," she said as she came inside.

"Where did you go off to, honey?" asked Pops. Mom giggled, "Spritle, I got something for you!" Spritle, hearing his name, ate the last piece of his breakfast and ran into the living room, "What is it?!"

A chimpanzee came into the open doorway on all fours.

"This family _really _needs to learn the meaning of sarcasm!" I whispered.

"Is that a monkey?" asked Trixie.

"The man I bought them from said they don't like being called monkeys," Mom corrected.

"Sweet!" said Spritle. "I'm gonna call him Chim-Chim!"

"Chim-Chim the chimp," I pondered out loud. "What a stretch."

"You have quite the interesting family," Trixie laughed.

I drove her back home on Monday night. We hadn't spoken about the garage incident all weekend … partly because every time she brought it up I changed the subject. I wasn't ready to confront her, or myself, yet.

"Speed, we should talk," she said.

"Okay, let's talk. Great weather, isn't it?" I murmured. I stared forward into the street, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see Trixie staring at me. Her face was full of concern.

"You're really going to do this?" she asked. "Ohh … fine." She gave up and started to gaze at the buildings.

We stayed silent all the way to her house, until she got out of the car. She said, "Thanks for a great weekend," kissed my cheek, and ran inside.

My mouth curled into a smile. When I realized the fact, I put it into a frown. I thought, _I can't tell this to Sparky, damn him._

Things between us were awkward at school after that. We talked about virtually nothing just to keep silence from coming upon us, like if we stopped talking we'd suddenly start kissing.

"Can I drive you home?" I asked her that Friday.

"I don't think you should," she replied. "I told my parents about you."

"What about me? They already know we're friends."

"I told my dad your father owns a motor company," she explained. "He probably wants to kill us both."

"What did he say about you skipping out last weekend?"

"A mouthful," said she. "I think he started swearing in French." I snorted.

"But I won't put you through his rant," she continued. "I'll walk home."

"Okay," I agreed reluctantly.

I fell asleep on the couch watching some really old movie during the night. I forget what it was. Something about two brothers and the oldest was good and the youngest was a real badass.

I think I just described almost every movie in existence featuring two brothers.

I was off in dreamland when I heard knocking at the door. My body jerked awake. I glanced at the clock. It said six a.m.

"There's a six _A.M._?" I asked the air. Who the hell would be knocking on our door at six a.m.? I walked with the pace of a tortoise to the door and answered it.

Trixie was behind it.

"Trix?" I asked. "What are you … it's six in the morning … ?" Then I rubbed my eyes and the full effect of what I was looking at hit me.

She was on my porch with a bag. Crying.

"They kicked me out!" she cried.

"Huh?" But I knew fully well what she was talking about. It was more of a 'say it isn't so!' huh.

"Daddy told me to choose between the family business and you," she said. "I chose you."

She chose me. Over her own _family. _

"Please, Speed, I've got no place else to go."

I wouldn't have turned her away, no matter what they disowned her for, but the fact that she'd done it for _me_ … it was _my _fault. There wasn't an ounce of hesitation in me. I too the bag out of her hands, "Come on in. I'll talk Mom and Pops into something permanent in the morning."

She clung to me tightly and shouted, "Oh, Speed!"

"I don't have the key to the guest room," I explained as we crept up the stairs, "so you can stay in my room tonight.

"Won't Mom and Pops get mad?" she asked.

"Well, the ideal would be that they wouldn't find out!" I whispered hoarsely. Slowly I turned the knob of my door and rushed her inside.

"You can have the bed," I said. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"Don't do that!" she exclaimed. "I'm the one who doesn't live here. _I'll_ sleep on the floor." I shook my head and picked up an extra pillow and blanket, "It would be rude of me not to let you take the bed." I placed the two on the ground.

While I was distracted by placing the pillow, Trixie pushed me onto my bed.

"And you stay there!" she demanded. "Understand?" She turned to lie on the floor. I took her by the waist, picked her up, and sat her on the bed. She tried to get back up and I tried to stop her. We ended up falling over on the mattress. We rolled around until I pinned her down.

"I'm not going to let you off this bed!" I said. Then I thought about it. "I mean--I--I--_You're sleeping on the bed!_"

I tried to roll off her and ended up on the floor with a huge THUMP!

"I'm good," I said, rather labored. "I'm just fine."

"Why are you so good to me?" she asked.

"Cause you're one in a million," I replied. Trixie smiled and put her head on the pillow. Her hand was hanging off of the bed. I found myself staring at it, totally transfixed.

_Just take it, what'll it do?_

I threaded my fingers through hers and grasped her hand. And, to my shock, she grasped mine, too. I stared at our hands, perfectly fitting into each other's. I never thought something so simple could make me so happy. I mean, we'd done it a thousand times before.

And we did it again the next day when I finally found the guts to go over to Pops and ask, "Can Trixie move in?"

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, I interjected, "Her parents kicked her out for associating with us because of the car company." Trixie and I squeezed each other's hands so hard that our fingers were turning red.

"She's got nobody, Pops," I added. "Nowhere to go."

Mom came up behind Pops, "What's the predicament?"

"He wants to move her in," he summarized. They both looked at Trixie, who responded by giving a nervous smile.

"And that's all true?" asked Mom. "You've got nowhere to stay?" Trixie nodded. Mom put a hand on her shoulder, "Well then, don't even wait for the mime here--" she pointed at Pops-- "to answer. You're free to stay as long as you like. Speedy, put her things in the guestroom."

Trixie gave her a big hug, "Oh, Mrs. Racer, thank you! Come on, Speed." I followed her up the stairs and dragged her bag into the guestroom across from my bedroom.

"I'm going to be across the hall from you," said Trixie. "All the time. Won't that be fun?"

"Yay," I squeaked. I cleared my throat back to my normal voice, "I mean, cool."

She rolled her eyes at me, turned around, and shut the--_her­_ door.


	9. Comes Love

_Comes a headache, you can lose it in a day  
__Comes a toothache, see your dentist right away  
__Comes love … nothing can be done._

When I was awoken by Billie Holiday's voice crooning those words, I immediately changed the station; only to hear "Everlasting Love" blaring at me. It was like Sparky somehow programmed the radio to mock me! You _know_ your life is sad when you believe the radio is conspiring against you.

"Damn him," I said for the umpteenth time. I angrily punched my radio off and muttered, "Happy birthday to me."

I was turning the big 1-7.

"Hey, hey, big guy!" said Sparky as he walked past my room. "Up before noon?"

"Yeah," I joked. "What's up with _that?_ It _must_ be a special occasion!" Sparky came inside and patted my shoulder, "Seventeen. I'd say you're almost too old for birthday punches … but keyword there is 'almost.'"

Sparky never landed anything but birthday punches on anyone in his entire life, so I didn't try to kill him for it.

Twelve minutes and seventeen punches later, I went down to breakfast rubbing my forearm and whispering to myself, "I am a _damn_ good friend."

"Happy birthday, honey!" said Mom upon my arrival. She picked up a cardboard party hat, one of the ones shaped like cones, and snapped it on my head. I knew she meant well, but I couldn't help feeling like she was erasing the '1' from my age in her mind.

"Thanks, Mom," I said, rather labored. I looked down at my cake. Two fingers, one _very _hairy, were dangerously close to the frosting. Mom slapped them and chastised, "Hey, you two! It's Speed's birthday. He gets the first slice of cake." Frowning, Spritle licked his finger and said, "Yes, Mom." He and Chim-Chim exchanged dissatisfied glances. It was nice to see he was getting along so well with his new pet.

"Hi!" called a voice. Trixie's head popped into the kitchen. She waved at everyone. "Sorry to wave and run, but I've still got a few things to pick up from my—the house."

"Oh, you can do that any time!" insisted Mom. "Stay! Have a piece of cake."

"And a party hat," I added, holding one out to her from the tip.

"I don't want to intrude or anything …"

"Don't be silly," Pops said. "We'd be offended if you _didn't _stay."

"Well, I wouldn't want to offend you," she giggled. "And I _do_ love a party. … And party hats." She took the hat from my hand and placed it on her head. She used me as a pillar to anchor herself into her seat, which gave me a lot more pleasure than I care to admit.

"Hey, Mrs. Racer, after the party's over, can I borrow Speed for an hour or two?" asked Trixie. "We could bring my stuff back in the Mach 5."

Mom looked at Pops, and they must have had some kind of mental conversation, because there were no words. Suddenly she looked back at Trixie and said, "It's fine."

We left the house an hour later. She left her party hat on the counter, wrapped a red bandana around her face, put on some sunglasses, took my hand, and pulled me to the front door, "Come on! We've got someplace to be." As she pulled me through the streets, I began to wonder if I was going to die blindly following her.

"Where are we going?" I finally asked.

"If I tell you that, then it won't be a surprise, silly!" she replied. She took the red bandana off her head and covered my eyes with it.

"What's _this _now?"

"Keep your eyes closed," she ordered. "I'll tell you when to open them."

"We're in the street," I said. "I don't think this is totally safe."

"Don't you trust me?" she asked.

She _knew_ that always got me. I growled, said, "Fine," and let her walk me through darkness. Soon I heard a very distinct roar. It sounded like … engines.

"Okay," said Trixie. "Open your eyes!"

I felt the cloth lift from my face. I did as she instructed and stared into the air. The word Thunderhead stood about fifty feet over my head. This was where Rex used to take me as a kid, where I turned it over, and where I learned to 'stop steering and start driving.'

"I figured this was either genius or total tactlessness," said Trixie, taking off her sunglasses and placing them in her pocket. "Which one?"

"Let's go!" I yelled, running inside.

"I guess that means total genius!?" Trixie called after me, tying the red bandana around her wrist.

We sat in the stands, watching the cars go past in a blur of colors. Trixie looked over at my face. I was intensely watching the cars.

"Are you going to be a race car driver?" she asked.

"Over Pops' dead body," I sighed. "Something about driving fast and dying young … or was it driving young and dying fast … I don't know. He just doesn't want me on a track."

"But I've seen you drive!" she exclaimed. "You belong out there!" She put her chin on my shoulder, "I bet you're better than all of them."

"I don't know about _that_."

"False modesty sucks," she said. I rolled my eyes awkwardly and smiled, "Okay, yeah, I probably am."

"Sooner or later you're going to have to stop doing Pops wants and start following your heart."

"Yeah, but your heart can get you in trouble," I reasoned.

"You mean like when you want to give it to another person?" she asked.

"I mean when it can get you grounded for life."

"Oh," she said. She lifted her chin off my shoulder and leaned back into her seat. "Of course you did." She crossed her legs and arms, the classic 'Trixie Pout.'

There was a sound of laughing in our vicinity. We both looked to the right. Nitro Venderhoss of Epykrosis Motors was sitting in the stands with us, about three columns of seats away.

"Rude," whispered Trixie.

"Hey kid," said Venderhoss, "you think yourself a driver?" He threw his keys in my direction and pointed at his car, "Take her for a spin."

I wasn't going to try to catch them, but Trixie did. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," he answered. "I need a couple more laughs."

She dangled the keys from her fingers in my face, "Take the keys, Speed."

"But if we get caught …"

"Don't be such a fusspot!" she exclaimed. "Take the keys!" I did, but mostly because I thought she was going to bite my head off if I didn't.

"Twenty bucks says he doesn't make it out the dog balls," said Venderhoss.

"Fifty says he does," Trixie retorted.

"You're on."

"We're breaking Pops' rules and now we're _gambling?!_" I whined. Trixie pushed me out of the stands and down to the car, "Yeah, yeah, I'm a rebel, I should be stopped. Just get in. And don't get yourself killed—" she untied her bandana and put it around my neck, "—you're too pretty."

And she ran back into the stands, next to Venderhoss.

Now seeing no way out of the situation, I got into the driver's seat.

"Whoo!" yelled Trixie. I shook my head with a smile and turned the key in the ignition. When I took off onto the track, I felt a jerk on my heartstrings. The red Mach 4 was swerving in front of me. I heard my inner child screaming, "OH YEAH!!"

This was home. Trixie was right. I belonged on a racetrack. The high speeds, the pure thrill of being in the lead, feeling nobody could catch you. I'd tried to keep it so dormant, and now it was boiling over. This was my place, whether Pops liked it or not.

"Go, Speed, GO!!" screamed Trixie. The word "GO!" echoed through the track for a few seconds.

The Epykrosis car was no Mach 5, but I can admit was well built. I sailed smoothly through the dog balls. From the rearview mirror, I could see Trixie holding her hand in Venderhoss's face. He dug into his pocket and gave her a fifty dollar bill.

"_She's_ winning money on _my_ birthday," I whispered to myself. "There's something _wrong_ here."

I came up upon the finish line faster than I would have actually liked to. Just as I was about to cross, another driver attempted to cut me off and rammed the car. It went onto its side. I was only on the track by the two left wheels.

My life flashed before my eyes. I saw all the people that meant the most to me: Mom, Pops, Rex, Sparky, Spritle; even that damn chimp Chim-Chim!

And eight-year-old Trixie asking if I was alright. Nine years of us together played through my brain like a slideshow at lightspeed.

"_SPEED!"_

"_Oh, Speed!"_

"_Speed __**Racer**__ …"_

"_You're wonderful, Speed."_

"_**Spee-eed!**__"_

"_Just try me, Speed Racer." _

From the stands, Trixie yelled once again, "SPEED!!" I executed a roll and ended up back on all four wheels again. She jumped out of the stands and ran over to me.

Watching her pound her little red ballerina-type shoes down the track, I realized something. Trixie had been there for me for over half my life. There was no one in the world—not even my parents—who could know me better than her. And that's when I knew what I wanted.

"Trixie!" I yelled. I unbuckled the seatbelt and started crawling out the driver's seat. Then something happened that I really wished hadn't. My foot got caught on said seatbelt and I fell on my face. Pride wounded, I turned onto my back and said, "I hope no one gets any pictures of this."

Trixie got onto her knees to look at me. "Are you alright?"

"This seems oddly déjà vu," I said. "Trix?"

"Yeah?"

I put my hand behind her head and pulled her in closer. I lifted my head and touched our lips together. The kiss deepened, and everything felt so strange and new and scary and wonderful. When we parted, she let out a sigh and pulled me to my feet.

Then she smacked me in the arm. The _same arm_ Sparky had punched seventeen times.

"OW!!" I yelled. "What was that for!?"

"You—" she hit me again "—left me hanging—" another smack "—for _nine years!_" She started hitting my chest (thank God; at least I wasn't already bruised there) as she shouted, "And here I am feeling all unappreciated and unreciprocated. Oooh, I _hate _you! Sometimes I just hate you so much, Speed Racer!!"

She stopped her assault and put her head in my chest, weeping. I patted her on the back and whispered, "I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes and looked back into my eyes. "Speed?"

"What?"

"Happy birthday."

**_Author's Note:  
_**Methinks I've watched the _Spider-Man _trilogy too many times.


	10. So What Now?

Kissing Trixie was like that fairy tale with the sleeping chick who was awoken by the prince's kiss. Everything about her was different; like I'd been seeing her through a filter all my life and now that filter was gone. The way I saw her now was what she was _really_ like. I'd been looking Trixie all my life, but only now did I really _see_ her.

"Speed?" asked her voice. She knocked on my door and insisted, "Let me in, please? We have to talk."

I meandered to the door, opened it, and motioned her inside. She took a seat on my bed. Awkwardly she said, "So, yesterday was fun, huh?"

"Tons," I replied with a chuckle.

"I didn't know your lips were so soft," she whispered.

"I didn't know you could hit so hard," I snorted. "Now both my arm _and_ my chest are bruised."

"Speed," she said, face solemn, "I need you to take me seriously right now."

"Okay," I nodded. I took a seat on the bed next to her. In unison we leaned our backs onto the wall. Staring at the ceiling, Trixie declared, "We kissed."

"We kissed," I confirmed. She craned her neck to the direction of my desk, but it was obvious her eyes registered nothing. She asked, "So, what happens now? Where do we go from here?"

"What do you _want_ to happen?" I asked, turning to face nothing but the back of her head.

"Speed, you _know_ what I want," she said. Finally, she looked at me, "It's all up to you. Do you want to forget this all happened and go back to what we used to be?"

"I think we've crossed a bit too far past the 'Just Friends' line to go back now," I confessed. "That line's a dot to us now."

"So what are you trying to say?" she questioned breathlessly.

"I'm saying I'd love to be more than pals …" I began.

"But?" she added.

"What if it doesn't work?" I asked. "I don't want to lose my best friend."

Trixie got off the bed, went over to my wooden desk, and knocked on the top. She reasoned, "_If_ it doesn't work … at least we'll know. I can't take the _not knowing _anymore." She crawled back onto the mattress and stroked my cheek, "And I've told you already … I'm never going to leave you." A single tear of memoriam fell from my eye as she chanted again, "Never, ever, ever." She wrapped her arms around me, the left hand grasping my shoulder and the right around my waist. She nuzzled my cheek fondly.

"I want to do the boyfriend/girlfriend thing," I said plainly. Her astonished face gazed at my profile. "Really?" I nodded a few times, turned to looked her straight in the eyes and said, "Yes."

We kissed again, this time certain of ourselves and our feelings.

"GREGORY 'SPEED' RACER!!" blared Pops' voice all the way from the kitchen. I broke away from Trixie and stared at the open door, "Uh-oh, Christian name."

Spritle and Chim-Chim raced past my door. He yelled, "You're in for it now!" while the chimp squeaked and nodded.

"I guess we should go down there," said Trixie.

"Not necessarily," I grumbled. She stared at me skeptically. I seceded, "Okay, okay."

I took hands with--it was still so weird to call her--my girlfriend, rose from the mattress, and went to the staircase. Convinced that nothing in the world could ruin this day for either of us, we went to face the crowd below.


	11. Freeing My Ambitions

_**Author's Note: **I didn't realize how many people wanted Speed to stay distracted just a little bit longer. So, here is a bit of an epilogue. We finally get to find out what it is Pops wants to scream about!!_

Pops sounded ready to kill. I hadn't heard him sound like that in years … nearly ten years to be exact.

Getting me down the stairs was a great effort for Trixie. I was like a ball and chain, holding her back. I had taken the stance that, if I took long enough to get down there, the whole thing would be forgotten.

"Let's go, Speed," said Trixie, tugging my arm to force me onto the next step. "While we're young."

"Gregory," I said, my teeth involuntarily chattering. "He called me Gregory. You want to know the last time he called me Gregory?"

"When?" asked Trixie. She sounded like she really didn't care, but that didn't stop me from telling.

"I CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER!!!" I shouted. Gregory was the name Pops put on the birth certificate when Mom declared, "I am _not_ naming my son 'Speed!'" But once I got older he started using it anyway and the original name fell into oblivion. The sole fact that he'd dug it out of the back of his mind let me know I was in big trouble.

"Just get it over with!" Trixie advised. "It'll be like pulling off a band-aid."

"Maybe you've never done that," I retorted. "It _hurts!_"

Trixie, sick of my whining, I guess, went behind me and started to push me down.

"Hey, hey, hey!" I cried, glancing over my shoulder at her. "Stop doin' that!"

"If you're gonna be a big baby about this, I won't!" she exclaimed. She shoved me again, "Go! Go, Speed, go!!"

"Okay! Okay!" I yelled. We stopped in the middle of the staircase and I inched myself to the left, out of her immediate reach.

"Alright," I mumbled. "I'll walk." I stomped down the steps; afraid of my father; slightly upset at Trixie for making me _face_ the source of my fear, and all around bummed that our little moment had been interrupted.

Trixie, apparently sensing my tension, slipped her arms around my neck and kissed the top of my head. She giggled, put her chin on my shoulder, and said, "You know, your head _reeks _of hair gel."

"You don't think I _wake up_ looking this cool, do you?" I joked.

"Does it make a noise?" she asked, knocking a fist on my pompadour. "I think it does!"

There was another thing to add to the reasons why the boyfriend/girlfriend thing made sense. Trixie always knew how to make me laugh.

She gave me another gentle push, and I stumbled down the rest of the steps. Mom, Pops, and, Sparky were awaiting my arrival in the living room.

"Morning?" I said sheepishly.

"Sit down, Gregory," said Pops. There it was again. I swear, I must have been called my legal name more that day than in my whole life up to that point!

Trixie and I took a seat on the couch. It sank a little. I figured Spritle and Chim-Chim must have been watching cartoons. Then the fact that I was pondering the actions of my brother and his pet monkey hit me. I was _really_ trying to avoid this confrontation.

Pops didn't speak for a moment, and if _he_ wasn't going to talk, I was sure that it wasn't it my benefit to prompt him. Even Trixie got a little scared. She clasped my hand tighter.

"Paper subscriptions are so useful, you know," Pops finally sighed.

"Yes, sir," said I, who was _obviously_ supposed to agree. At this, Pops laughed and slapped a magazine in my lap. It was the latest issue of _The Racing Chronicle._ On the cover was a full color photo of _me_, driving the Epykrosis car. The headline read: "_The Kid's Got a Need for SPEED!"_ Underneath, in smaller letters, it said, _"It's a Family Thing."_

Grea-aat. _Busted!_

"Who's that handsome lad on the front page?" I asked with a nervous chuckle. No one laughed; no one talked. Apparently I was supposed to read on. I glanced through the article, filled with stuff about my brother and pictures of my little rendezvous with Trixie at Thunderhead. There was even one of me tripping on the seatbelt.

"Damn," I whispered inaudibly. Of course, _no one_ caught the part where I got the girl!

"What do you have to say for yourself?" asked Pops.

What was there to say? I was grounded for life already. Thank God Trix lived with us now; or I'd probably never see her again. Part of me wondered if I should tell them we were together … it would have been a nice change of subject…

"Well?" Pops demanded.

"It's all my fault," said Trixie suddenly. "I told him to do it …" I turned my head to look at her. All the color had left her beautiful, already normally pale, face. She almost winced as Pops started to round on her.

"No!" I shouted. "It's _not_ her fault, Pops!"

"I've done everything I could to keep you away from race cars, and I find out you, in the local paper, driving some bumper car from Epykrosis?!" yelled Pops. "They couldn't even build a golf cart!!"

"I'm sorry…" I said softly. Then I realized …

"I'm sorry that I can't be sorry," I revised my apology.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm not sorry," I repeated. "That … was … the best day of my life. That's where I need to be. On a race track, driving the wheels off every other driver. It's where I'm _supposed _to be."

"No, you're _not!_" shouted Pops.

"Says _you!_" I responded. "But my heart tells me it is. And I've gotta follow my heart…" I firmed my grip on Trixie's hand, "… a really special girl taught me that." I looked at Trixie. She stared back at me in awe. For a moment, everything was frozen; we'd forgotten exactly what the situation at hand was.

Then we heard a yelp.

Mom, eyes widened, looked from me, to Trixie, and back. She pointed at our intertwine hands and stammered, "You … Awwww!!!" She skipped--no lie, _skipped--_over to us and put her arms around our necks.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so happy for you!!" she gushed, hand wrapped around my chin, pushing my cheeks together.

"Thanks, Mom," I had meant to say, but it came out sounding more like: "Tanks Mim." She let me go, put her hands on Trixie's shoulders, and said, "You little _spitfire_, you!See, Mom knows. I _told_ you he'd come around!" She hugged her again, until Pops yelled, "HONEY! We're still mad at him, remember?"

"Oh, yes, of course," she said, smoothing out her apron. But she couldn't hold it in and ended up clapping and sighing, "Young _love!_ I have to bake something!"

Pops growled. For sure he wanted whatever Mom was baking, but rewarding me with sweets wasn't what he had in mind at the time. I bowed my head and laughed.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Speed!" he ordered. But I couldn't. The mood of intimidation was dead and _he_ knew it, too. That's why I was suddenly 'Speed' again.

"Pops, you've _gotta _let me drive!" I said through chuckles. "It's in our blood. It's the air we breathe. We're the Racers. We race."

Pops, defeated, growled again. He pointed a large finger in my face, "You better be _damn_ good!"

"Oh, he _is_ Mr. Racer!" said Trixie. "Trust me!"

"Fine," he decided aloud. Sparky, get in the garage. If he's gonna be racing, he might as well be in a decent car." He started out of the room, muttering, "Epy_krosis…_"

He'd given in. This conversation was like some twisted nightmare that turned into a dream come true!

"Oh, Speed!" said Trixie, aware of how much this meant to me. She embraced me and kissed my cheek. (I would have kissed back, but I was still absolutely stunned!)

"_Sparky!"_ called Pops again.

"Coming, sir," said Sparky. As he left, he shot a glance at me and threw his head in Trixie's direction.

'I _was_ right!' it said.

I gave him a snarky look back: 'Yeah, for the first and only time. Leave me alone.'

Puffed up with pride, he left us. I smiled at his retreating back. He _was_ the one who got me thinking about Trixie and me being more than friends. I should probably thank him …

But see if that _ever_ happens.

**_Author's Note:_** _Stick around. There will be a sequel to this one, maybe even two..._


End file.
